Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
There must be touch, there must be intention. Tap a Providence Card thrice to command its magic. Tap it thrice more, and its magic will cease. Guard it in your cloak—your house. But be wary. Magic knows no loyalty. Should someone else touch the Card, its magic shall be theirs to command.
There must be touch, there must be intention.
R avyn saw me as far as the stairwell.
It was evening, Equinox night. Soon the second feast would begin, followed by court festivities—dancing, games, and all manner of debauchery fueled by the King’s wine.
“I must speak to the others. I trust you can find your own way back to your rooms,” Ravyn said, turning to leave. Then, as if he’d forgotten something, he looked back at me, his voice less strained. “I’ll see you at dinner, Miss Spindle.”
A threat or a promise? said the Nightmare.
I watched the Captain of the Destriers make his way across the hall, his steps hurried. He doesn’t trust me.
You told him your mind is off-limits. If he didn’t think you were hiding anything before, he certainly does now.
I AM hiding something , I said, fidgeting with the hem of my torn sleeve as I marched up the stairs. You.
The corridor was busy. Servants attended the rooms with trays of wine.
Men loitered outside their doors in groups, laughing and smoking.
I stayed clear of them, brushing up against the gray Prophet tapestry.
So sudden was the ache to be back at Hawthorn House—away from everything and everyone—that I put a hand to my stomach.
When I opened the door to our rooms, Nya was in the parlor.
“For heaven’s sake!” she shrieked. The attending maid’s hands were white from cinching her into a very robust corset. “Close the door. Do you want everyone to see me in my undergarments?”
I ignored her and moved to my room, slamming the door.
I sat on the bed, the last remnants of gray light fading to darkness.
I’d been cooped up for hours in that cellar beneath the castle, most of the day lost to Ravyn Yew.
He was a strange man, the Captain of the Destriers.
I’d expected someone in his position to be a bit less quiet, more abrasive—more brutal.
I was happy to be wrong.
Still, there was darkness in Ravyn’s quiet. I could see it in his expression—the cool control of his features. He, like me, had learned to still his face—to obscure his thoughts under a mask of control and austerity.
Which meant he, like me, had things to hide.
Why else would he and his cousin stalk the forest road when they had the mighty Destriers at their disposal? If the Nightmare was correct about anything, it was that whatever his motives, the Captain wanted my magic.
It intrigued him.
The Captain of the Destriers is dark and severe. Watching from yew trees, his gray eyes are clear. His wingspan is broad and his beak is quite sharp. Hide quick or he’ll find you… and rip out your heart.
Dimia opened my door without knocking, her hair still wet from the washroom. When she saw me, her upper lip drew into a thin line. “Where have you been? You look a mess.”
“I was in the garden.”
“We were all in the garden,” Nya said, following her twin into my room, her corset casting an airy quality to her voice. “You’re the only one who came out with dirt on your dress and brambles in your hair.”
“Hurry up,” Nerium’s voice called from the other room. “We’re expected downstairs before the eighth chime.”
I pulled a loose twig out of my hair. “Did you know Ione was given a Maiden Card?”
My half sisters jerked their heads toward me. “What do you mean she’s been given one?” Nya said.
Dimia launched herself onto the bed, the mattress groaning. “Who gave it to her?”
“How much did it cost?”
“Does she look different?”
I moved to the washroom, peeling off my dirty dress. “All I know,” I said, “is she had it this morning on the garden walk. Did she say anything to you about it?”
Dimia pouted. “No one tells me anything.” Nya opened the washroom door, dragging my dark green gown. She held the dress up to me, examining it. “Fine enough make,” she said. “Though the color is too dark for Equinox. Did Father give it to you?”
“No,” I said, sliding the wet towel across my skin before snatching the gown. “Uncle.”
She raised her brows. “He’s far more generous than I imagined if he’s fitting you with new dresses and spending half his fortune on a Maiden Card. Who knew living in the wood paid so well?”
“It doesn’t,” Nerium said, entering my room, making no effort to hide the fact that she’d been eavesdropping. “Which means he borrowed the money. Or traded something of great value.”
The Nightmare’s laughter startled me.
“Here,” Nya said, handing me a fine-toothed comb. “Take this. Your hair’s more tangled than a bird’s nest.”
There was a tall silver looking glass in the common area. When I’d dressed I stepped to it, blinking at the woman in the mirror—hardly recognizing myself in the vibrant green gown. Dimia sidled up next to me, plumping her cheeks in the mirror. “Alyx Laburnum asked me about you last night.”
I clapped a hand to my face. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”
Nya scowled, her mouth a tight line. “I can’t understand why you snub him,” she said. “He’s amiable and thoughtful—far too good for you.”
“That he is,” I said without remorse.
Nerium came up behind us, wrangling her daughters, pinching their cheeks until they glowed red. “That’s the chime.” She shot me a brief up and down glance. “I trust you will find no reason to embarrass us this evening, Elspeth.”
I could think of a fair few things that might embarrass my stepmother. Being chased through the mist by the Captain of the Destriers, for one.
And knocking him senseless , said the Nightmare.
My lip twitched, but I did not smile.
My father was waiting in the corridor with the other men to escort us, his tunic a deep crimson red. He offered Nerium his hand. The twins followed, their arms linked together, leaving me to trail behind, a shadow next to their brilliant Spindle red.
We stepped into the corridor and made our way to the great hall. I cast my gaze about for Ione and her pink light but saw few Cards. Color emanating from three sentinel Destriers, a Golden Egg, a Chalice, and a Scythe filled the room. But no Maiden Cards.
When the orator announced the name Spindle, my father and Nerium stepped forward first, followed by my half sisters, then, lastly, me.
The crowd turned to watch us. Heat rose in my cheeks and I clenched my fingers into fists along my dress, determined not to feel like the afterthought they painted me.
Prince Elm Rowan stood at the foot of the grand stairwell, the red glow from his Scythe lighting our way.
The Prince’s smile did not touch his eyes. “Erik,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m sorry I missed you at the hunt. Welcome to Equinox.”
“Highness.” My father bowed deeply. “Thank you for having us.”
“Always a pleasure to see you and your daughters.”
Dimia giggled and Nya elbowed her, their swanlike necks bent low.
Elm blinked at them, his freckled nose wrinkling, as if he’d smelled something foul. His eyes shifted over them to me. “This must be your first wife’s daughter.”
My father looked back, as if only just remembering me. “Elspeth has not come to Equinox in years,” he said, bidding me forward. “Elspeth, you remember Prince Renelm.”
I bowed. When Elm extended his hand in greeting, our fingers met, cold and unfeeling. “Welcome back to Stone, Miss Spindle,” he said, his green eyes cunning. “May I escort you to dinner?”
The Rowans are not to be trusted. They cling too desperately to their Scythes, hungry for power—for control , the Nightmare called in the din. Be wary.
I tensed, my eyes lowering to the red Card in Elm’s pocket.
But I took his arm anyway, the fabric along our sleeves sliding together.
He was only two years older than me—the same age as Ione.
His green eyes stood out against olive skin, and when his hair caught the light, thick and unkempt, it was the same color as the Equinox wreaths that hung above the arches of the great hall, bright with autumn hues.
He was undeniably handsome. But the red light from his Scythe cast strange shadows across his features. I looked away, unnerved.
We glided through the room with my father’s second family behind us, the ocean of folk parting. Candles and torches had been lit and the great hall was aglow, illuminating the fine fabrics of Blunder’s houses, namesake trees embroidered on the breasts of dresses and tunics alike.
I looked for Ione and the Hawthorns but did not see them, the crowd as thick as the mist.
A servant trotted by with a silver tray of brimming goblets. Elm took two and handed me one brusquely, spilling some wine on the floor near our feet. I took it with both hands, happy to no longer be touching him.
Elm drank deeply from the goblet, his green eyes tracing the room. “You must be very special,” he said out the corner of his mouth, waving and nodding as members of his father’s court passed us. “It’s not often Ravyn lets anyone into his confidence.”
“Confidence?”
“You were alone together for hours.” A terse smile slithered across his mouth. “What’s more, he’s insisting you, or your magic, are somehow useful .”
I stared at the King’s second son, tightness creeping into my stomach. How easily he wore the mask of cordiality—of charm. But I could hear disapproval, doubt, in his voice. I smelled it on him like smoke.
I took a step back, distrusting the Prince as readily as he did me. But before I could walk away, a man—tall and handsome and broad—approached us, the crowd’s eyes following him.
“Brother,” High Prince Hauth Rowan said in greeting, his gaze shifting from Elm to me. “Who is this lovely creature?”